


Journey

by prairiecrow



Series: Absinthe [2]
Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: A.I. to Human, Age Difference, Cognitive Dissonance, Devotion, Established Relationship, Existential Crisis, Grief, Hand Jobs, Hope, M/M, Mortality, Mutual Masturbation, Older Characters, Older Man/Younger Man, Protectiveness, Regret
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All human beings are on the same journey, and Devon is determined that KITT won't face that road alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place approximately six weeks after the end of "Absinthe".

Devon Miles woke to the sound of midnight rain — and to an empty space beside him in his large and luxurious bed. Listening, he heard no telltale sounds from the bathroom that might indicate only a momentary absence, so he rose at once, stepping into a pair of slippers and wrapping his quilted burgundy smoking jacket over his plaid flannel pajamas before padding out into the shadowy main living area of his gorgeously appointed suite. There he found exactly what he was seeking. 

KITT — that was how he still thought of himself, even after almost three months incarnated in body of flesh and bone — was sitting beside one of the tall windows that looked out into the weeping spring night. Faint illumination washed in from a security light on the walkway below, tracing the elegant contours of his pale face and lingering in the green pools of his eyes, turning his chestnut hair into a shock of tousled darkness almost as black as the lustrous ebony shell he had once worn instead of indigo linen pajamas. He'd parked himself in one of a pair of matching wingback chairs, with one slim leg tucked under him and his temple resting against the forward sweep of the chair's back closest to the window, watching the tired rain with a thousand mile gaze. Devon noted with relief which seat he'd chosen for his dark ruminations: the one facing towards the bedroom door, which meant that he was at least open to being approached. It had taken Devon nearly two weeks to figure out that when he sat in the chair that placed his back to the door he really wasn't in the mood for conversation, and it was a signal that his much older lover now scrupulously respected.  

Tonight, however… KITT didn't turn as Devon crossed the carpet to take his seat in the chair facing him, but position was everything, so Devon spoke gently with every expectation of receiving a response: "Have you had another nightmare?" 

"Not precisely." He didn't sound overtly depressed, but Devon now recognized that low contemplative tone of voice, too. It hinted at much darker reaches of thought than the mere timbre conveyed. "The dream itself was actually rather… exhilarating. It was the waking up that proved most unpleasant." His gaze shifted to his left, but diverted toward the floor before it quite met Devon's compassionate eyes. "I thought that I was driving the car again, on a desert road, watching Michael sleep the night away. Watching him dream, wondering what they could possibly be like. But then I woke up, and realized that I was the one who had been dreaming." He closed his eyes briefly, and after a moment he shook his head slightly. "Somehow it's even worse than remembering, because at least when I'm awake I know that memories are just that — and not reality. But when I dream, for a few moments, I'm all that I used to be. And waking up is…" 

When he opened his eyes again and they finally completed their journey toward human contact, Devon nodded sympathetically. "I think every human being alive has experienced that phenomenon. It's especially devastating after a significant loss. After Amelia Claremont died, I had many nights when I woke up briefly convinced that I'd just been talking with her. You've been through a great deal, and you must give yourself time to adjust." 

"I hate it," KITT said flatly. 

They were sitting almost knee to knee, but he resisted the urge to reach out and take one of the marble-white hands currently folded neatly together in KITT's lap. He sensed that the gesture of comfort would not be appreciated, that it would wound the AI's already damaged pride even further. "It will pass eventually. Or at least, that's what the sum of human history tells us." 

KITT considered that proposition for a moment, biting his full lower lip. "I'm not sure if I want it to pass," he said at last. "For a few moments I'm free of this body, and that's a wonderful thing indeed." 

"But until you let go of that attachment, you'll never be able to fully embrace what you've become," Devon reminded him. He had made this point several times before, in many different contexts, but KITT had undergone a sea change more vast, arguably, than that suffered by any single mind before in the entire scope of human experience. That fact, and his own fiercely proud nature combined with an easily bruised ego, surely entitled him to both gentleness and patience from those around him. 

And there it was, a flash of deeper anger penetrating his sombre demeanour. "And what _have_ I become, Devon? A helpless ward of the Foundation? That extraneous variable we've discussed? In any case, I'm quite useless for all practical purposes. You and Michael won't even consider licensing me as a third level field operative!" 

"Actually, I've been giving the question considerable thought of late." He'd wanted to ponder the matter from every possible angle before bringing it to KITT's razor-sharp attention, but this as as good a time as any to introduce the basic concepts. "Bonnie tells me that you have an uncanny ability with computers — that you seem able to diagnose their strengths and weaknesses intuitively, and that your suggestions for design improvements have been nothing short of sheer genius. She's suggested that you might be suited to a career as a cybernetics engineer. We'd create a new identity for you, just as we did for Michael, including the requisite degrees to reflect your knowledge base. You'd be working for the Foundation again, earning your own money and legally independent." 

He now had KITT's undivided attention, his peridot eyes laser-intense. "And what identity would you set me up with, exactly?" 

Devon smiled kindly. "I was thinking that the name Christopher Knight has a nice ring to it, and you'd still be called Kitt for short." 

"Would I have to move away?" 

The blunt question surprised him. "Of course not — not unless you wanted to. You could keep your quarters here at the mansion and work in the attached facility, along with Bonnie whenever she's here." Had he just been given a hint of previously unsuspected motivation? Best to cover that base as well. "Or, we could send you anywhere in the organization you liked, although I'd recommend that you remain close to home for at least the first six months, so the core team can offer you any support you may need." 

At last, a faint trace of a smile. "I'm glad to hear it, because I certainly don't want to leave. This is really the only home I've ever known, the place where I was constructed and tested." The frown that creased his brow began to smooth away, his voice falling to a softer inflection. "And, _you're_ here. With Michael and Bonnie on the road so much, I must admit that I take great comfort in that." 

He smiled reassuringly. "I take tremendous pleasure in your company too, dear boy." 

The frown deepened again, with an unmistakeable edge of fear. "Do _you_ want me to go away?" 

Now he did reach out, taking KITT's right hand gently in his own, applying comforting pressure. "I would be very disappointed if you did. I love you, you see. But if you wanted to take your leave, I certainly wouldn't stand in your way." 

After a moment he nodded, his slim shoulders sinking back against the padding of the chair as he drew a slow breath, then released it with visible relaxation. "Believe me, I'm not going anywhere. You've been very kind to me, Devon. I'm still not sure that I know what love is, apart from possibly my connection to Michael, but the thought of leaving you causes me a quality of pain that not even dreaming memory can induce. The prospect of awakening in the night and finding you absent is…" He abruptly blinked and looked away, eyes visibly gleaming, his voice suddenly hoarse.  "There, do you see?" 

He squeezed the slender fingers again, asking the question that needed to be asked, although he quietly dreaded the answer: "Is it only comfort you're seeking?" 

He shook his head without hesitation. "No, it's… all of it. The way you smile, the way you frown, the way we can talk about anything and everything — even the way we argue." He smiled fully, turning those bright eyes back to Devon's face. "And the way we hold each other when we make love. The way we can make each other feel. Being pleasured by you and pleasing you in return, it's… magnificent. I definitely don't want to lose that." Devon saw determination stiffen those graceful shoulders once more, trying to be brave, though his heart was doubtless quickening with anxiety. "But if you wanted to send me away, or if you thought it was for the best, I would go wherever you sent me. Surely you know that." 

"I have no intention of sending you anywhere," Devon stated firmly, letting a hint of steel enter his expression alongside the fond warmth. "My life would be much darker without your wit and your beauty in it."  

"Even now?" His voice was low again, its East Coast accent husky with new urgency. "Even being… this poor fragile thing that I've become?" 

He laid his left hand over KITT's, clasped in his right. "It was becoming human that allowed me to fully love you. I'm afraid I can't help but rejoice in this turn of events, from a purely selfish perspective." 

KITT was silent for another long moment, gazing down at their joined hands in his lap. At last he shifted his own left hand to curve it around Devon's, completing the circle of contact. "But everything's so different now. I was, for all intents and purposes, immortal: the parameters of my world were firmly established, both within and without. But when you're human, the world around you changes — and you have to change with it. And… you change yourself, which is far worse." 

A tear at last tracked slowly down his cheek. Devon disengaged his left hand and reached up to cup the line of that sharp jaw and wipe the traitorous drop away with a tender thumb tip, but offered no words of comfort. What could he possibly say? All of KITT's statements were perfectly true.  

After a short span of heartbeats KITT exhaled a shaky little laugh, sniffled, and turned his cheek against the palm of Devon's hand to look out into the night again. "There's no way to stop this, is there?" he asked almost conversationally. 

He shook his head. "None whatsoever. We're on a journey, from the moment we're born until the moment we die, and we stop for no one and for nothing." 

"It used to be that I _could_ stop, you know — I could shut myself down cold. Time itself would be suspended. But now, even in sleep, I dream, and the loss of control is frankly terrifying." 

"I can only imagine. But you can take comfort in knowing you're not alone. Or at least, I hope you can." 

KITT closed his eyes again, visibly struggling to contain a surge of raw emotion. He still found such upheavals difficult to manage, and Devon's heart ached with sympathy for him as he spoke in a choked hopeful whisper: "You're not going to send me away? Even though I can't fulfill my designated functions anymore?" 

There had been hints of this fear before, fleetingly glimpsed in the fractional hesitation between one word and the next, but this was the first time it had broken cover so overtly. Devon stroked his cheek, tracing the line of tension that bracketed his mouth with supreme gentleness. "Look at me, KITT." When the AI obeyed, he met that pained gaze directly and spoke with utter conviction: "No power on Earth could convince me to banish you from the Foundation, from this estate, or from my bed — unless you, yourself, wished to depart. And if you did, I would see to it that no power on Earth could stop you." 

He closed his eyes and turned his head again, to press a warm lingering kiss to the older man's palm. "Thank you," he murmured, and smiled with that bitter sweetness that still moved Devon's heart the way the moon moves the tides. "I don't say it enough, I know, but… _thank you_ , so much. For everything." 

Smiling in turn with more than a hint of sorrow, he leaned forward to press a distinctly paternal kiss to the smooth skin to the left of KITT's mouth. "There's no need to thank me, dear boy. What I do for you, I do gladly, with an open heart — and absolutely no expectation of reward." 

He started to lean away again, but the curve of KITT's lips stopped him. He knew that signal in his bones, and when those green eyes opened and flashed pure heat into him at such close range his heart began to beat a little faster.  

"But what if I wanted to reward you?" KITT asked in a low husky voice, full of promise. He leaned forward in turn, offering his lips, and when Devon tasted them he found them as cool and as silken as the night itself, kindling a deeper fire. 

"Well then," Devon smiled when they parted a scant inch, "I'd have to be a complete fool not to accept the sincere expression of your gratitude." 

"Oh _good_ ," KITT purred, reaching up to curve his left hand around the back of his neck and pull him closer again. "I was hoping you'd say that…" 


	2. Chapter 2

There had once been a time when he could calculate a spatial path down to the final metre of distance beneath his wheels — when his perception had been laser-sharp and infallible, and all the world a complex set of four dimensional coordinates to be mapped. He had often wondered at the lack of precision in human conversation, at the way they referred to the universe in what seemed to be curiously general terms. 

Once? Certainly no longer. He was himself now composed of flesh and blood, and time, like space, had become a blur wherein only certain landmarks remained in semi-focus thanks to imprecise senses and the traitorous tricks of human perceptual filtering. Why, he couldn't even enumerate the days and hours and minutes and seconds since he'd been stricken! — except to say that it seemed like an eternity ago while simultaneously feeling as if the shock of it had hit him only yesterday. 

He definitely couldn't judge the precise distance between his lips and Devon's in the increment of time between a solicitous kiss on his cheek and the rise of a more carnal impulse — only that it seemed too far, and that even when they met he felt like he could never get close enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Quite suddenly the rain-streaked spring night wasn't half so cold as it had been only a few seconds ago. He closed his eyes briefly and leaned into the contact, scarcely sparing a thought for how natural it felt to simply surrender to what was being asked — no, demanded — of him, wordlessly but with perfect clarity. 

Even after almost six weeks it still came as a surprise, this rush of physical passion at the sharing of breath and body heat — so swift, so pure, such a profoundly instinctive engagement of his flesh, which had been cool and quiet for nearly an entire decade before he'd gazed into KITT's eyes for the first time and felt the ashes flare to life with a nearly audible roar. And as deeply as he had loved the sweet curves and soft lips of the various women in his life, this contact with male strength roused a darker tone of heat, one that demanded decisive and immediate bodily engagement rather than a delicate handling of dainty fragility. 

A different character of arousal, certainly — but no less intensely romantic for all that. Devon had never been a man who engaged in casual sexual encounters merely for the sake of satisfying a momentary lust: for him, worthwhile erotic desire had always been tied to personal affinity on one level or another, and he and KITT were similar in so many respects that sympathy vibrated between them with almost palpable force. No doubt it was a deliberate aspect of the AI's cognitive design: he had been intended, after all, to serve as Michael's trusted assistant and occasional foil, much as Devon had served as Wilton Knight's, and it only made sense that Wilton would have patterned KITT's personality on one that was already close at hand and whose effectiveness and utility had been solidly proven. But Wilton had never imagined that one day those two people would meet face to face, and look into each other's eyes, and find so much there to admire, to harmonize with, and to be drawn toward. He had never imagined that the sculpture would one day come to life, and that hands could touch, and smiles warm hearts, and lips meet in the midst of engulfing shadows.  

If he had, would he have recreated the image with such fidelity? 

For a fraction of a second Devon thought of Narcissus and the reflection that had tempted him to his doom. There was an obscure equivalency there, but at the moment he was too distracted to effectively chase it down. 

KITT's kisses were ever-so-slightly hesitant, in spite of his clear intent to be seductive — not that he ever had to try too hard to be alluring, the darling boy! — and Devon suspected that he knew the reason why: that lingering insecurity in his own worth, which had never left him since the moment he'd awakened to a world of human frailty and discovered that his original purpose for existing had been shattered at the root. Sometimes, however, the most persuasive arguments involved no words whatsoever, and therefore he gently slipped his left hand around the nape of that slender neck in turn to draw KITT nearer, kissing him with tender heat, pouring unspoken reassurance — _you are beautiful, you are valued, you are loved_ — into each shared sigh, and each caress of mouth to mouth, and each tiny nudge of nose against nose. When he felt some of the underlying tension in that proud spine finally dissipate and the way KITT's body yielded, leaning a little closer with a tiny intake of breath, he also knew that this interlude was going to involve a much more intense level of physical contact; there were certainly times when kisses and caresses were all that either of them desired, affectionate petting sinking easily into shared silence and companionable slumber, but tonight there was a tension and an urgency in KITT that craved greater potency to lay his demons to rest. Devon had learned to interpret those signals too, and had long ago resolved to do his level best to provide whatever his ward required, in whatever capacity he was able to serve. 

Therefore when he disengaged enough to take KITT's hands in his own and rise to his feet he was not surprised that KITT rose to follow him at once, his green eyes darkened even more by pupils widely dilated in the dimness. The beauty of that narrow sharp-featured face upturned to his own struck Devon to the heart — would there ever come a day when he was immune to that unsought thrill of recognition? — and he felt his cock stir against his thigh, an amazing occurrence at his age without direct physical stimulation, just before KITT moved in close against him to press the evidence of his own arousal home: more than half erect already, and nearly incandescent even through a quilted smoking jacket and two layers of pajama material. 

"Devon…?" Half a question, half a plea, and all eagerness. The AI had learned that sex could be an effective distraction when the pain of an existential crisis bit too deeply: a distraction he was seldom proud of having employed come morning, but it was yet another weakness that he had learned to live with, a necessary concession to unwanted humanity. Devon was slowly guiding him toward the day when he could talk about it in the morning after without averting his eyes, half-heartedly trying to conceal yet another crack in the edifice of his personal integrity. 

But that, too, was an encouraging sign: he was ashamed of himself, and that was still a piece they had to work on, but at least he wasn't entirely shying away from revealing that part of his inner life. He trusted Devon enough to lay himself bare, and that was a privilege which Devon was determined to never abuse. 

Nor this privilege: to take that unlined face between his hands and tenderly kiss it, cheekbones and pointed nose and cool lips that parted beneath his own with another soft intake of breath. Slender arms slipped around his waist, locking their torsos fast together, and when KITT's tongue tip darted out to flicker against his lower lip with sly sensuality he felt another surge of heat flow into their groins, stirring together.  

"You could have anyone, you know," he murmured between kisses, "anyone you wanted. And one day you shall." 

"I don't want 'anyone'!" An acerbic protest, followed by a kiss considerably more aggressive — but it too was a plea with a trace of an upward inflection: "I want you, and _only_ you." Another kiss, still deep but definitely melting, surrendering even as it penetrated. "Devon, _please_ …" 

He closed his eyes again, letting his his hands fall to the younger man's shoulders. It was always like this in the moments of KITT's deepest despair: two proud fortresses laying open their defences without a single shot being fired, this illusion of humanity that clothed inhuman youth and innocence breaching his shields with silken and devastating power. The AI's urgency was born from pain and the need to escape it: of that he was certain. But what of his own motivations? 

He could have refused. He could have said: _As much as you may desire this, I suspect that you want it for all the wrong reasons._   

But instead of pushing him away he opened his eyes to meet that yearning gaze, and whispered warmly: "Come to bed then, love." 

The way KITT's face brightened was all the justification he needed. 


	4. Chapter 4

He had learned to live with this profoundly alien complex of input, both externally and internally generated — and with the way that it all blurred together, with no clear demarcation between the touch of Devon's hand and the surge of his own lust, between the native heat of one body and the urgent burning of another. 

Merely learned to live with it? No: if he was honest with himself (a constant struggle when all he wanted to do at some points was to flee as far and as fast as he could from the prison of his own skin) he had to acknowledge that he'd let himself be engulfed by it from the instant that the quality of Devon's touch had first overtly changed, nearly six weeks ago. This body had protocols in place that evolution had written over the course of hundreds of millions of years, and he, so newly crafted, had no hope of overriding them. 

So. He succumbed. He let himself be led. He touched, and was touched in return. He permitted the incandescence to flow between them. 

Nevertheless, that such sharing fulfilled him in ways he'd never imagined possible before his transformation remained nothing short of terrifying.


	5. Chapter 5

Back in the bedroom the heavy curtains were all drawn, and consequently it was considerably darker and somewhat warmer than it had been in the living room. But Devon didn't need illumination to appreciate the loveliness of KITT's present body: he had memorized its shapes in the past six weeks, the contours of slim muscle maintained by daily workouts and regular jogging, the silkiness of smooth young skin under his hands as they stood beside the bed slowly kissing, opening up each other's tops and slipping them off to let them fall unheeded onto the expensive carpet at their feet. As always he felt a pang of self-consciousness at the state of his own physique — he still performed light combatives on a daily basis to keep himself limber, but he was a long way from the muscular figure he'd been his youth — a qualm that deepened when KITT whispered against his shoulder: "Turn on the bedside light? I want to see you." 

"A fact which never ceases to amaze me," he quipped, but he released his lover long enough to obey. Turning round again, he found that KITT had seated himself on the edge of the bed and lain back in the pool of warm yellow radiance, propping himself up on his elbows to look Devon over with an openly admiring gaze. He returned the surveillance with a smile of open appreciation. "But you… ah, _you_ are truly a sight worth savouring!" 

A sly quirk of his lips as he tilted his head coyly to one side, his eyes flashing green fire. "Isn't there an old human saying about beauty being in the eye of the beholder?" 

"Very true." He crossed to KITT's other side and sat down beside him, taking a moment to simply appreciate the elegant lines of him: the angles of his cheekbones, the fine tendons in his throat, the smooth planes of his chest and his stomach, the drape of his indigo linen pajama bottoms over his eager erection. "But only a blind man could ever deny that you are utterly exquisite." 

KITT smiled, a rare smile of pure pleasure, and leaned up to curve his right hand around the back of Devon's head and draw him down into another kiss. "Flatterer," he murmured softly, with a faint ripple of amusement. 

"On the contrary." He let himself be pulled down, pushing KITT flat onto the mattress with his left hand on his right bicep, and started to apply lingering kisses to the left side of his throat. "I've told you that you're the most perfect creature I've ever seen, and I meant every word." 

He tipped his head back, wrapping his left arm around Devon's waist, sinking the fingers of his right hand deeper into Devon's hair and surrendering under his ministrations. But — " _Not_ perfect," he breathed, a thread of deeper tension stealing back into his voice and creeping into his shoulders. "Not any more, and never again…" 

Devon sighed subliminally. He knew that words had no power to ease this wound: they had talked it over for hours, up and down and round and round, and KITT was far too intelligent not to understand that flesh and blood was painfully fallible in comparison to silicon and steel. The injury he'd suffered involved his entire body and his self-concept was still struggling to catch up to it — all that Devon could do was offer him arguments that couldn't be countered with intellectual dissembling, no matter how keen the intellect involved: the pressure of ardent lips against his skin, wordless murmurs of adoration, a hand that explored his new warm shapes with an unhurried touch… 

In short: worship, not quite a replication of the attention KITT had received on the altar of technological uniqueness, but perhaps something close enough to quench the thirst for attention and recognition that the AI had never lost.  

He concentrated on finding a natural rhythm, kisses and caresses and soft breath against bared skin, to match the ebb and flow of rising desire in KITT's own body. He was considerably older and his days of energetic sexual performance were far behind him, but what he lacked in stamina he could more than make up for with skill and patience — and KITT, nearly desperate for distraction, was awakening under his hands as he always did, shivering exhalations and quickening heartbeat, restlessly arching upward to meet his carefully calculated touch.  

Slow. Thorough. Restrained. All quite civilized, really. But when one particular stroke of his thumb along the hollow of KITT's still-clothed hip (holding back from his now very hard cock) finally provoked a hungry little whimper free of the AI's adamant self-control, the thought that surged to the fore — _Mine!_ — was so greedy and so primitive that for a fraction of a second Devon entirely failed to recognize it as his own. 

But when he did recognize it, along with its inherent truth, he seized it — and with it, the moment.


	6. Chapter 6

Terrifying, yes, this surrender to waves of sensual desire… but it filled the emptiness within him, the void of lost purpose, in a way that little else could even begin to emulate. It made the wide cold world where he was now so small a warmer place; it enclosed him in a space where he might not be in complete control, but where he retained an element of personal power.  

Power based in the way Devon looked at him in these moments, as if he were beautiful again. As if he were still worthy of attention and time. As if he was admired, cherished… valued, in spite of having lost all the abilities that had made him capable of fulfilling his intended function. 

In these dark hours he felt that he would never be fit for anything again, doomed to a lifetime of decline and obscurity. But when he whimpered and opened his eyes at the crest of a surge of arousal to find Devon gazing at him that way… 

… gazing back into blue eyes that burned for him — only for him — he had some inkling of what humans meant when they spoke of the emotion named hope.  

Then Devon smiled with an almost predatory edge and began to caress him through his linen pajama bottoms — enclosing fingers and long, slow strokes that went straight to the root — and he couldn't stop the cry or the tremor of reaction that, for a heartbeat, made him feel entirely and magnificently mortal. 

This time he scarcely fought it at all.


	7. Chapter 7

KITT writhed — a restless toss of his tousled head, spine hollowing upward as Devon dipped to bestow a tongue-stroke and a nip upon one small erect nipple — but when he drew back enough to look into those half-lidded green eyes it was with a smile of sexual triumph, knowing that when he reached down and closed his hand around the younger man's achingly rigid prick through his pants KITT would tremble eagerly, and open his thighs even more, and bite back a moan as if the touch somehow wounded him. Which it did, perhaps, but arguably in the best way possible. 

"Shhh…." He began to rub, slowly but thoroughly, from root to head and back again, the heat of it nearly burning his fingers through fine linen. It had been quite some time since he'd regularly enjoyed erections this secure on his own part, but he certainly remembered what to do with one. "Gently, my darling boy…" 

"Lo—" He closed his eyes and shivered again, the grip of his own hands tightening on Devon's waist and nape when the older man's fingers squeezed the crown with briefly firmer pressure: "— love it when you call me that…" 

"My darling, or my boy?" 

"Both." A purr of laughter as he braced his bare feet wide apart on the floor and began to roll his hips in counterpoint to Devon's stroking. "Makes me so hard…" 

"Yes," his smile phasing more indulgent, "I can see that." There were all kinds of issues there that didn't bear thinking about too closely, at least not at the moment, and when this interlude was over he'd let them slide all over again — but in the moment itself, oh, how they made him burn with answering fire! He bent to press more kisses to that silky throat, introducing an edge of thrilling teeth into the mix that made KITT laugh again, a deep throaty murmur, his fingers running from Devon's upper arm to comb through the dense thatch of silvered hair on his chest and then down over his belly. "Such a _good_ boy…" 

"Not entirely," KITT breathed, sliding his hand under the waistband of Devon's pajama bottoms to grip and stroke in return, finding him already nearly half-hard in a rather rare turn of events. Alas, the years of getting an erection automatically were long past — he often found it difficult to raise and maintain one without constant stimulation, no matter how eager he was in his mind, and with KITT he was almost always very eager indeed — but the AI was a quick learner, and it hadn't taken him long to catch onto the fact that even if his much older partner wasn't stiffening, that didn't mean he wasn't feeling pleasure. And therefore KITT would fondle, and lick, and suck him with great enthusiasm even if he was only partially erect, much to Devon's delight, although in the back of his mind he sometimes wondered when a younger rival with a steelier cock would eventually appear to divert KITT's attentions.  

Perhaps as soon as he emerged from Devon's protective shadow and began to engage the wider world: he was a bright and handsome young man, and surely it wouldn't take long for others to notice that he was worth getting to know much better. Or, perhaps never: another man might attract him with an unlined face and a more youthful body, but Devon _knew_ him from his most brazen declarations to his darkest secrets, and there was a degree of intimacy and understanding there that a stranger would find impossible to replicate. Or perhaps it would be a woman who lured him away: Peter DeVries had only ever had girlfriends according to Michael's investigation, although if he'd actually preferred men it certainly wouldn't be the first time that someone had worn a 'beard' to conceal his true nature. 

Or was this even about sex at all? Had Narcissus truly lusted after his own reflection, or merely longed to drink in its points of similarity? Could the connection they shared be nothing more than self-absorbed —? 

KITT's moan against his mouth as they stroked each other — soft, hungry, openly pleading — penetrated his chest and twined around his heart and held it fast. He felt it break open like a piece of ripe fruit, a complex blend of dark and bright emotions spilling free. God help him, _no_ , egotism wasn't all there was to this: he was throbbing in KITT's hand with an ardour which nobody else could kindle, and moreover it was the gestalt of this intricate entity that was inspiring him, not merely a well put together physical form or the parts of its mind which mirrored his own constitution.  

"Oh yes," he whispered with a more tender inflection, slowing his hand to a light lingering stroke of his thumb up and down the burning length, "oh, my precious Beauty…" Then, firmly, to counter the sudden pained question in those brilliant eyes: "But you are, KITT — never doubt that for a second."  

His hand slowed to a stop while he tried to process that statement, dark eyebrows drawing together in a most fetching frown. "I — I don't see —" 

Devon silenced the protest with another kiss combining affection, compassion, sensual heat, and sternness. "Can you accept the premise that I have never lied to you?" 

The frown deepened. "That's not a premise — it's a fact." 

A narrow smile cornered his mouth. "Well then, can you accept the premise that I never _will_ lie to you?" KITT nodded cautiously, so he continued: "Therefore, the logical inference is that when I compliment you…?" 

"… you're also telling the truth." 

"Very good, my love." He kissed the tip of KITT's nose, then nuzzled it with his own, petting the younger man's irrepressible erection and smiling more widely. "Very good indeed!" 

KITT's eyes widened in turn. In a much smaller voice he said: "Then… you mean that, too." 

He gazed into their green depths and responded without hesitation: "Every single time."


	8. Chapter 8

For the human mind, time and space were a blur compared to the precision of his former senses. 

But in this moment there was near-perfect clarity, as though the Cartesian coordinate unit vectors that made up reality had all returned to their base values. 

It was always that way, whenever Devon Miles looked at him and used the word _Love_. For a heartbeat he felt that he was precisely where he should be. 

He turned his face against Devon's shoulder to hide the burning in his cheeks and started to move his hand again, rewarded with the catch of his lover's breath and a mirroring caress on his own yearning erection.  

Happiness, too, was still a strange and alien sensation in so many respects.


	9. Chapter 9

Devon saw the truth strike home like a blade — in KITT's sudden blush, in the way he buried his face against Devon's shoulder with the accompanying brush of light stubble from jawline and cheek… and in his smile, briefly but dazzlingly radiant. It was like witnessing the unlocking of an iron-banded door to permit access to the most secret room in the heart of a tower keep, a fortress itself alive and dropping its guard only under the touch of the most trusted hand. 

But what, precisely, did its treasury contain? That was a question that still occupied Devon's attention every hour of every day, because although this mirror wore a human mask it was actually composed of something closer in nature to ebony quicksilver inscribed with innumerable characters of ever-changing lightning. And there was a part of him that even now hesitated before keying the lock that accessed its depths, because this mystery might share his bed but it didn't entirely share his substance or his worldview. 

 _Will he ever be fully human?_ Which led to an even more disturbing line of inquiry: _Will he ever find a place, or a person, to truly call his own?_  

That was the abstraction which sometimes kept Devon up at night, but this — hot breath against his shoulder, a tiny wince and a lower moan, fingers tightening and quickening around him — was the concrete expression of a connection that could grant some measure of peace, even if only for a short span of hours. He shifted up the mattress a little to let KITT fully bury his face against his chest, drinking in the younger man's whimper as his older lover's hand slipped down inside his pajama pants and wrapped bare skin around bare skin, stroking with a faster rhythm. Devon recognized the quality of that tiny vocalization and set aside his half-formed plan of breaking out the lubricant and using his fingers in a different way — as much as KITT enjoyed those particular erotic games, they wouldn't be necessary tonight. He was already very close indeed. 

"Yes, that's it…" Cradling KITT close with his right arm around those slim shoulders, he pressed a kiss into the disarrayed spikes of chestnut hair above that pale right temple and let his smile warm his voice: "There's no need to hold back, my dearest — let it go…"  

"Devon —?" An almost plaintive cry, his breath beginning to come in gasps: the distance between moderately high arousal and the point of crisis could sometimes be that short with him, especially in cases where he had already been emotionally keyed up. His left arm slid further around his partner's waist and locked tight with almost desperate strength. "Devon — _ah!_ — please —!" 

"Yes," he repeated softly, twisting his grip on each upstroke in a way that made KITT start to moan in earnest, feeling the hand on his own cock begin to falter in its ministrations. He welcomed the sign that the AI's concentration was being so powerfully disrupted, and when KITT suddenly lunged upward to kiss him with devouring intensity he let himself be pushed backward onto the mattress, responding with equal passion while silently willing his still-so-innocent lover toward the point of no return. He couldn't banish the existential dilemma that loomed over KITT's new life, but if he could ameliorate the terror and the crushing self-doubt that came with it he would do anything in his power toward that end. 

A deeper groan, a whole-body shudder, and KITT began to thrust urgently into his grip. One, twice, thrice — 


	10. Chapter 10

He was starting to spin out, losing cognitive traction as Devon's stroking hand revved his nervous system at a higher and higher speed. He tried to hold onto control, to turn into the skid, but he had no effective strategies for counteracting this accelerating slide into the deep end of organic sensory overload.  

At first it had frightened him. It still did to a certain degree. But with touch building on touch and their bodies melding together, breath mingling in hard hot kisses, hands working each other's erections, taking each other higher… 

Magnificent indeed, this shared frequency rapidly amplifying itself to the point of detonation! Magnificent — and overwhelming, even with considerable experience now under his belt. 

Fear swirled and hissed around the edges of his mind like rain from hot blacktop — but he wasn't alone on this journey, and he was being steered by a driver he could trust. The inevitable thought — _Would I trust Michael to do this for me?_ — surfaced from the storm surge, only to disappear again almost immediately: he wasn't with Michael, and he never would be. Guilt, while regrettably human, was ultimately pointless in this situation, especially since Michael knew what was going on and had effectively given it his blessing.  

 _Better you than me,_ he'd told Devon with a grin, patting KITT on the shoulder. _KITT, buddy, you know I love ya, but you also know that if I tried to go out with you we'd be at each other's throats in ten seconds flat._  

It had hurt, even though he knew full well that Michael was firmly heterosexual. It had been a relief, because it was really Devon's smile that lit him up inside — sexually speaking, at least. It had put the final nail in the coffin of his hopes that one day, perhaps, he would regain the close relationship that had sustained him for his entire non-human life.  

In some ways it had devastated him. In other ways, it had set him free. 

Take this moment, for instance: no place for guilt, because he'd been willingly given to another. He tried not to feel like an abandoned thing, traded in for a better model, even though Michael was out there testing KATT and he had been left behind to —  

No. He hadn't been discarded: he'd been deliberately passed into Devon's keeping. Michael had said: _Take care of him for me,_ looking into Devon's eyes with a smile that didn't quite mask grim sorrow. _And try to keep him out of trouble, huh?_  

He had not wept at that moment of irrevocable parting from his imprinted pilot.  

Why, then, did he feel the sting of tears in his eyes now, as he surrendered himself to the touch of the man who had promised to cherish him and to protect him, no matter what?

[TO BE CONTINUED]


End file.
